


'Til Death

by ChloShow



Category: Reservoir Dogs (1992)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5009215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChloShow/pseuds/ChloShow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wearing a wedding band for the job wasn't his idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The wedding ring was Holdaway’s idea.

“This whole bachelor thing’s not gonna cut it. No one trusts bachelors, especially ones they ain’t acquainted with.”

Freddy had been modeling the "Look" he’d picked for his first meeting with Cabot (an over-sized leather jacket, jeans, and a tank top) when Holdaway dropped this news on him.

“What do ya mean?  I can’t exactly drop details about a fake wife over beers. It’s supposed to be an anonymous operation.” This wasn’t exactly the kind of pep talk he needed before first contact with Joe Cabot himself.

Holdaway sat at Freddy’s kitchen table judging the kid. Freddy was a nut. Over the past week he’d seen him go from smartass geek to smartass Joe the pot man.  If Freddy could really convince Cabot’s guys he was cool, he would custom order him an Academy Award in the shape of the Silver Surfer.

He fished around in his pants’ pockets to pull out a gold band. “Here, got it cheap at a pawn shop.  You’re a married man now.  That means you’re responsible, trustworthy…and capable of commitment.”

A pair of sunglasses distracted Freddy. He’d been admiring himself in the mirror, popping and unpopping his collar, sliding the sunglasses down the bridge of his nose.  In mock scandal, Freddy approached Holdaway, raising his hand to his forehead, “Oh, my parents would never approve!” 

Holdaway snorted, “I’m too good for you, and you know it.  Just try it on. Tell me if it fits.”

The gold band slid over his left ring finger easily. Freddy twirled it experimentally, getting accustomed to the unfamiliar weight on his hand. Holdaway’s logic made sense: Bachelor’s lived for themselves. A married man, even a _young_ married man, would be less reckless on a job.

“What’s your girl like, man?” Holdaway prompted good-naturedly.

“Oh, you know.  Ass, tits, and makes a great casserole.”

Both broke down laughing.

“You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve never been with a woman in your _life_.”

Freddy laughed the statement off although he _had technically_ been with a woman…once….in high school, “I’m just tryin’ to speak like these guys. If I had a woman, you know I’d never, ya know…”

“What?  Treat her like shit?  I know that, man.  You don’t have to convince me.  Just convince _them_ you got a great girl at home who you gotta provide for,” his gaze found some sort of superhero action figure on the table a few inches from his hand.  He picked it up mockingly, “Shit, who am I kidding?”

“Thanks,” Freddy took the action figure (a small Iron Man) away from his colleague and friend, retorting sarcastically, “Thanks for the support, man.”

 

***

 

“How long you been married?”

That certainly wasn’t something he was expecting to answer.

Mr. White was obviously just trying to make small talk, but Joe Cabot’s rules had him anticipating some level of secrecy. It’s like this guy was just begging to swap personal info, which, hey, was not any sort of problem for Freddy except that he hadn’t really given the idea of a fake wife anything but vague thought. 

“Uh, three years.”

“Nice.  Nice,” Mr. White sat behind the wheel, innocently killing time as they drove to their stakeout destination, “Is she a good woman?  Must be good seeing as you’re so young to get mixed up with marriage.”

“She’s a good woman.  I treat her right.  She treats me right,” shit, how was he going to prompt this guy for info without sounding like a total cop? He paused a second, letting his answer hang in the air, “You married?”

“Nah,” he waved off the question, “I’m not the kinda guy who gets tied down.  Usually if I’m with someone, it’s ‘cause I’m mixing business with pleasure, ya know? Or maybe you don’t. You seem like a good kid.”

What was he gonna do?  Was he gonna be the “good kid,” the responsible criminal? He didn’t want to alienate himself from the guys, but how much of an asshole could he safely make himself out to be?

“I wouldn’t say that.  If I’m being honest, she could do better.”

“Don’t be hard on yourself.  We all think people could do better than us, but most often we’re selling ourselves short,” Mr. White took a cigarette out of his pocket, pulling up in front of their hit and putting the car into park.

“I’m not as good as you think I am, and you’re probably not as bad as _I_ think you are,” Freddy prodded the conversation away from himself.

For some reason or another, this hit Mr. White funny. This kid who knew shit about him was giving him lessons in judging people.  He flicked his lighter a couple times, taking a couple drags from his cigarette before answering with a smile in his voice.

“Fuck, kid, you don’t know me.  But I guess I don’t know you either, do I?” 


	2. Chapter 2

Freddy hated that damn ring.

Sometimes he’d forget to take it off, realizing he still bore the mark of Mr. Orange while he was showering or worse, when he woke up in the morning wearing the damn thing.  He didn’t want to be reminded of his fake wife, his fake life.

But what bothered him most was that he did. He _did_ want to pretend to be Mr. Orange.  He liked the camaraderie he felt with the guys, how easy it was to fit into their circle, the rapport that had already formed between him and Mr. White.  He loved it.

The ring just reminded him these weren’t his friends.

That’s probably why he forgot to wear it that day.

***

“Trouble with the wife?”

He and Mr. White sat outside a burger joint, getting a quick bite after their assigned tasks for the day.  Freddy was caught off guard by his colleague’s inquiry, not knowing what could’ve possibly led to a question about his love life.

“No, why do you ask?”  Maybe his sunglasses could hide the panic in his eyes.

White gestured toward Freddy’s left hand using the fingers not currently holding onto his burger, “Your ring.”

Well, fuck, in all the ways he could’ve slipped up. Luckily, his efforts to search for a reply were very similar to that of a man not emotionally equipped to talk about his marriage issues over lunch.

“You don’t have to talk about it.  I understand.  It’s rough...It’s not the job, is it?” 

Oh, it wasn’t even fun anymore how easy it was to get White to talk.

“I don’t wanna talk about it _here_ , ya know?  This isn’t exactly a private venue,” he indicated their table outside of the burger joint.  People eavesdrop, and they didn’t want to accidentally spill details about the job in front of these clueless bozos enjoying their burgers and fries, did they?

“Okay, to be continued,” White’s sunglasses obscured the better part of his eyes, but Freddy could tell by the crow’s feet that he was truly smiling.

***

They were parked in some remote location. Perfect for disclosing secrets, or offing traitors and disposing of their bodies…

The privacy was stifling.

“You don’t have to say anything that could compromise your cover, just, give me the general picture.”

Freddy sat looking straight ahead, mind blank. He had all that time to formulate a story, but nothing materialized.  Time to redirect the conversation away from him.

“Why are you so interested in my marriage, man?”

This did nothing but put White on the defensive, “Hey, I offered to let you get whatever it is off your chest because I don’t want you distracted during the job.  That could get me and a lot of other good guys killed.”

“I’m sorry, man, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just stressed as fuck between her and the job.  It’s wearing on me.”

“Yeah,” White wasn’t prompting anymore. If that was all Orange needed to say to feel better, so be it.  However, it was just the tip of the iceberg for Freddy.

“The truth is,” what was the truth? “The truth is I don’t love her anymore.”

“Hmmmm,” White took this in, giving Freddy time to expound if he wished.

“I don’t know if I ever loved her, ya know? I don’t know,” where was this coming from?  He couldn’t even picture his wife’s hair color; how did he know how he felt about his marriage?

“That’s tough, buddy, real tough,” White rubbed his chin, considering the most predictable reason a man would have for leaving his woman, “You know, I’m not trying to assume anything, but from what I’ve seen, if there _is_ another woman, you gotta let her know.  It’s only fair to her.”

He could’ve run with this explanation. It could’ve been that simple, and this conversation would’ve set a precedent, built up a certain trust between him and White that could've lead to other personal reveals.  But that wasn’t satisfying, wouldn’t help _Freddy_ in the short term.

“It’s not that…not that _exactly_. I don’t have another woman. I just don’t love her, and I _can’t_ love her, not like how she wants to be loved,” he pointedly didn’t look at White.  He couldn’t take how much the other man cared about the wellbeing of a fucking _stranger_ , couldn’t take whatever he _knew_ the guy’s eyes looked like right now, full of empathy and understanding.

A hand settled on his, a friendly, encouraging grip, but there was a mutual tension that it could turn into something more than that.  Freddy, eyes closed and mind blank, slid his hand out from underneath White’s as if to reject him but instead pulled the other man’s hand up to his face.  White’s fingers weren’t stiff with shock, no, they curved against Freddy’ cheek.  He brought his lips gently against White’s hand, finally bringing himself to open his eyes and see the effect he was having on his partner.

In all honesty, he should’ve kept his eyes closed because White’s soft gaze and careful touch had fatally corrupted Agent Newandyke’s loyalty.

***

“Keep the ring on,” White cautioned him, “You don’t have to wear it with me, but always keep it on ya, or else Joe will get suspicious and the other guys might talk.”

Freddy’s answer was to kiss White one last time before they crossed the motel room door's threshold and into the real world.

***

Maybe this is what it was like to be married.

Larry combed his hair, assured him everything was going to be alright despite the clear fact that it wasn’t.  Feeling faint from the blood loss, he could pretend the ring on his hand was from Larry, not something Holdaway gave him for his cover.  
It wasn’t even that difficult to imagine.  Larry had the habit of sliding the ring back onto his finger because Freddy was always so forgetful. 

***

They were both dead.  Not dead yet, but so full of bullets that it was only a matter of minutes, not hours. 

He’d been thinking about this outcome, not willingly, but if he really were to die here, he had to tell him the truth because the alternative was worse at this point.  
What if both of them survived?  Mr. Orange would die, but Freddy would survive. 

Honestly, he didn’t know who was who anymore. He may as well be Mr. fucking Orange: Nameless, disposable, created for this job that was doomed from the start, hopelessly devoted to the criminal holding him as they both bled out.

“I’m a cop.”

He deserved the truth.  That was the only clear thought that ran through his head. Larry deserved the truth.

Freddy didn’t deserve a damn thing. He’d betrayed both his employers, cops and crooks alike.  By anyone’s standards, he was a traitor. 

And if the terrible wailing coming from Larry told him anything, the one thing Freddy deserved was death. 

Not that he wanted to die.

But if anyone were to execute him for his crimes, he’d prefer it was Larry.


End file.
